


Strawberries and Sugar

by jozyyh



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 18:43:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4887736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jozyyh/pseuds/jozyyh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My intention was to write a drabble about Ichigo and Shiro eating strawberries (how original), but the story grew into a normal domestic AU where Shiro and Tensa are adopted members of the Kurosaki family and summer cookouts happen. Lots of cute. Even more silliness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strawberries and Sugar

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever Bleach fanfic so I hope I did alright. No beta so read at your own risk. Dedicated to MidnightEden234 over on fanfiction.net because her stories remain a constant source of inspiration for me.

“I am back.”

Ichigo announces, an exhausted sigh weighing down his breath. It had been a particularly irritating day at school and the teen was happy to be home. As much as he loved the slew of warm weather, July was turning out to be an excessively humid mess.

If the cicadas weren’t keeping him up at night, the sticky cling of his sheets did, the after-burn of the midday sun turning his bedroom into a greenhouse despite the combined powers of a fan and a well-placed bowl of ice. Even stripped down to his boxer shorts, Ichigo found that he couldn’t escape the heat, and while his near constant tossing and turning awarded him with a fleeting sense of comfort, it also pushed him further from unconsciousness.

He had hoped to sneak a _siesta_ in-between classes this morning, but his friends turned what was supposed to be a lazy Tuesday into a collection of frantic requests for his assistance. The sympathetic youth was in such a rush to keep up with every person and problem that needed his attention (if performing a series of menial tasks like opening a jammed locker for Orihime or punching Keigo in the face because he was feeling left out of the “ask-ichigo-fun” qualifies) he almost forgot about being tired, almost.

With another twitch of irritation in his brow, Ichigo kicks off his shoes, leaving them to drop in a disorganized pile by the entrance, relieved that his feet were no longer cramped inside.

Strangely enough, the Kurosaki Clinic was quiet. A whole minute had passed since the brooding high school student had walked through the front door and still no surprise attacks from his father or mismatched greetings from his younger sisters.

Remembering the pairs of shoes left by the threshold, knowing their familiar shapes and sizes, he wonders where their owners could have wandered off to. Distantly, he hears a wellspring of voices, young and old, muffled, but chipper, at the opposite end of the house, coming somewhere from the vicinity of the backyard and Ichigo swallows down the rising urge to panic. There was no need to worry, his family was safe, he reassures himself, repeats the words again and again until the reality of their meaning sinks in.

Blowing out over chapped lips, the orangette decides to take the good fortune for what it was. He’d lost count of the number of times he silently begged for peace and quiet and here he was graced with the opportunity to sneak away unnoticed.

Making his way upstairs and into his room on the second floor, Ichigo drops his bookbag into the seat of a vacant desk chair, his homework assignments postponed until later. Tugging open his shirt collar, the petulant teen peals away his itchy, tight-fitting uniform and substitutes it for a much preferred t-shirt and shorts.

He entertains the idea of passing out on his pillow right then and there, but decides he’s much too feverish to even think about sleep, not when the air is at least ten degrees hotter up here and his body is already starting to sweat.

He walks back out into the hallway, his destination being the bathroom sink. A little facial cleanser does him a world of good, makes him feel refreshed and agreeable now that his pores have been scrubbed clean of oil and dirt. Cupping a handful of tap water, he rinses away the soap, wipes the excess away from his eyes, but leaves the dampness along his temples to evaporate naturally, enjoys the cooling sensation the rivulets create when the air hits his skin.

Stomach growling, the clairvoyant boy retraces his steps back to living room for something to eat.

Ichigo shivers against the wintry mist of the refrigerator, wispy tendrils made visible by the rift in opposing temperatures, and just as he’s about to grab the neatly sealed leftovers of last night’s dinner, a spray of water slaps across against the glass, startling him.

Thinking the worst, Ichigo dashes to the back porch to investigate the noise.

“Is everyone alri- AHHHHH!”

The teen shrieks as his dry clothes are doused by a whip of freezing cold water the moment he slams open the sliding glass doors.

“Ey! watch where yer aimin’ dat thin’! Yah know how much I hate teh rain!”

Shiro snarls, the bridge of his nose twisting into a deadly ravine. It seems the albino isn’t the only casualty caught in the cross fire, a paper fan clutched in his pale hand, it’s delicate pleats warping with the burden of being soaked.

Karin, clad in a swim-suit and armed with a sputtering garden hose, scoffs at her targets unapologetically.

“It’s not rain if it comes from a hose, you lame-o,” The raven-haired girl taunts, immune to the daggers golden eyes are throwing her way. "Besides, why waste time waving that fan around when you could be playing with me? C'mon, I am bored.”

A wicked grin splits Shiro’s face, his briefly mourned fan crushed inside his fist, a prediction of her defeat.

“So, yer challengin’ me teh a fight, huh? Fine, but don’ ‘xpect me teh go easy on yah just cuz yer a kid!” He warns, never one to turn down an invitation to cross blades or in this case, garden hoses.

With a few quick maneuvers, the albino effectively restrains the young girl, one arm wrapped around her front while the his other arm dangles the hose over her head, a continuous spray cascading over her dark locks and slicking down her bathing-suit strapped shoulders.

“What the hell is going on out here?”

The sobering grate of Ichigo’s disapproving voice is enough of a distraction for the two bickering siblings to flinch, locked in a temporary truce as they observe their more respectable older brother’s sodden state.

“I’m utterly d'stroyin’ yer lil sis, whassit look like?”

Shiro remarks flatly because what he’s doing should be obvious, unless Ichigo managed to get inflicted with blindness in the last few seconds.

Ichigo knows the two pranksters like provoking each other, Karin being guilty of instigating more fights than Shiro (the orangette would not have believed it either had he not witnessed it first-hand and kept a mental tally), but it was his responsibility to keep an eye on them and intervene when things got too rough.

“ _Our_ sister,” Karin corrects, her speech warbled by the gush of water.

“Wha’s that? If yah still got teh strength teh talk, then lemme hear yah beg fer mercy!” Shiro chortles, positioning the metal spout closer to her head, the stream following the grooves in her hair. The young girl squirms, the grass under her bare feet flooded and slick, but she can’t shed the taller male’s grip.

Karin swings her wet bangs around frantically, creating a nebula of stray globules that splash against her tormentor’s exposed limbs, but it isn’t enough of a threat to pry him off.

“Ichigo, aren’t you going to save me from this goose egg,” Karin whines, though it sounds more like a command than a plea for help.

“ _Goose egg_ ,” Shiro echoes, one pale eyebrow raised in question because he doesn’t know whether to be insulted or pity the tomboy’s poor choice of words, though he seems to be leaning toward the former.

“Nah,” the colorful male declines, avoiding her trap and waving her away, “You’ll have to win this one without me.” Ichigo eases his tired form back, bent legs hanging out over the warm boards of the porch, a spectator awaiting the outcome of their petty feud.

“Yah hear that,” Shiro whispers triumphantly, his smile inflating his cheeks and pulling his eyes into mischievous crescents, “Ichi’s not comin’ teh save yah dis time.”

Karin cringes, her adopted brothers trickle of laughter making her shudder, but she quickly masks her trembling shoulders as a product of the cold seeping into her blood and whitening her skin.

“Ugh, what kind of brother are you, leaving your sister to die!”

She roars, sticking Ichigo with a reproachful glare and it does nothing to trim down the nauseating smile glossing his handsome features.

Karin was hoping she could trick her two gullible brothers into a drenching each other in a shower of ice-cold water (what can she say, she likes watching them fight and they seem to enjoy it too, they just need an extra push, one she’s willing to provide), but now that her plan has backfired it’s up to her to rescue the situation. In a bold move, she steps on her captor’s bare foot, applying more force to the metatarsals than necessary because she’s feeling ornery and demands a little compensation for her services.

As soon as Shiro’s muscled arms fly off of her to reset his balance, the girl ducks away, released back into the wild.

The hose falls from Shiro’s possession and Karin picks it up, spinning on her heel. She slicks back her bangs with the palm of her hand to get the best view of the albino’s reaction, sneers like a Cheshire Cat in light of the pain she’s caused.

“Owww! Why you little–”

“Welcome home, Ichi-nii!” Yuzu calls exuberantly, cutting off what was sure to be a curse.

The tanned male blinks, chocolate brown eyes searching for his cheerful little sister. He’d been so busy babysitting the other two problematic children he somehow overlooked her presence. 

Yuzu is smiling brightly at him, a darling angel with the addition of her “berry cute” apron from her position amidst an elaborately decorated picnic table. An arrangement of various dishes, some of which he didn’t recognize, but still considered appetizing, stretch the full-length of the tablecloth, the dotting perfectionist putting the final touches on the impressive menu for tonight’s dinner.

Ichigo’s admiration was cut short, however; by the flight of a _hotdog a la flambé_. The absurdity of the strange phenomenon delays his reaction, but he dodges at the last second, the tips of his orange spikes singed by rubbery projectile as it lands just beyond him, burning a hole in the grass.

“What the hell was _that_?!” Ichigo screams in mortification, his wide eyes flashing with what could have been the _punny_ headline of his obituary.

“Ichigo my son! I see your reflexes are as good as ever!” Isshin call from his behind a massive charcoal grill, the craftsmanship so poorly engineered it must have been imported from America. Ichigo prays that whatever store his father purchased this monstrosity from has a thirty day return policy so he won’t have to look at the glorified lawn fixture after today.

“What are you trying to do, burn down the backyard,” Ichigo snaps, extinguishing the cremated husk of processed meat with the recently orphaned garden hose.

“Yuzu thought we should try putting on a western style cookout! Isn’t she brilliant? My baby is so grown up! I am so fortunate to have such a wonderful family.”

The brawny man grins, radiating an aura of fatherly pride, his apron coining the phrase: “dressed to grill,” in a cheesy letterface and Ichigo thinks his father could stand to show a little bit more modesty.

“Dad, the burgers!” Yuzu cries at the sight of grey plumes of smoke billowing up from the main chamber of the grill, the pungent odor of overcooked meat harassing her delicate nose.

“Yes, I am sorry!” Isshin flips the hissing patties over, the bottoms burned to an unsalvageable crisp by his negligence. “Everyone likes their burgers well done, right,” the doctor inquires sheepishly, one oven-mitted hand fidgeting at the nape of his neck.

Shiro retrieves the discarded hotdog that was hurled at Ichigo earlier, dusts it off and bites into it’s flaky black flesh.

“Tastes fine teh me,” he reviews with another crunchy mouthful.

“Are you sure you won’t reconsider letting me man the grill, Dad?” Yuzu appeals, certain that her other siblings won’t have the same tolerance for the doctor’s lousy cooking skills.

The stubbly man looks down at his adorable eleven year-old, her usual wide caramel eyes, even more blown up and doe-like, but her pout cannot sway Isshin from his fatherly duty.

“Nonesense,” the goat-faced man declares, “I can’t have my precious daughter around an open flame!”

The dirty blonde haired girl huffs in defeat against the imperiousness of her old man’s logic, the wrinkles in her forehead rivaling one of her orange-headed brother’s famous scowls.

“Alright, but it’s a good thing I bought extra! You better have those inedible mistakes scraped off by the time I get back,” She concedes, a pinch of reprimand in her voice should her father disappoint her expectations.

“Yes, of course! Anything for you my darling,” Isshin salutes, fully committing to the task his daughter assigned to him.

“Before that though,” the small blonde mutters to herself, turning towards the lively group.

“Shiro-nii! Karin-chan,” she calls, “I made something special for the both of you.”

The two addressees line up in front of the apron-clad girl with all the obedience of carefully trained pets at the promise of free food and Ichigo admits he’s curious as to what his culinary-inclined sister has prepared for them as well.

“For you,” Yuzu insists warmly, handing the tall, pale boy a wooden bowl of sliced strawberries garnished with sugar.

“Thanks,” Shiro says softly, at loss for what to do and the apprehensiveness shows on his face. His step-sisters acts of kindness are still baffling to him, having come from a life of lawlessness where people’s affections were bought and taken and gifts were always repaid in full.

“You’re welcome!”

Her pale brother finally smiles at her, allowing happiness to flow through him, Yuzu’s infallible love showing him the way. Fastidiously indulging in his treat, Shiro walks the short distance back to the porch and plots himself down next to Ichigo.

“And for Karin we have blackberry mint tea!”

A tall glass of marmalade is passed to Karin and she takes an experimental sip, lets the flavors of fresh mint and blackberry absorb into her palate.

“It’s good,” she concludes and Yuzu beams in honor of receiving her sister’s approval.

“I am glad you like it!”

Karin returns to her drink and takes up residence in a nearby lounge chair.

Peace and harmony being once more restored to the Kurosaki household, Yuzu spares herself a moment to slip inside the kitchen. The middle school student smiles down at Ichigo’s relaxed form, their heights inversed now that she’s climbed the porch steps.

“Sorry, to keep you waiting, Ichi-nii. Dinner will be ready soon, I promise.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’d gladly wait a hundred years for a taste of your cooking.”

The homemaker shakes her head, thinking herself unworthy of the admiration reflected in his eyes.

“Well, I can’t take credit for the hamburgers and hotdogs,” she says ruefully before disappearing inside to retrieve a fresh supply.

Ichigo lets himself recline on his hands, listening to the song of the wind chime as it dances to the gentle sway of the breeze, breathing in the menagerie of life and colors around him. The teen shifts to check on the albino, his sudden docile nature intriguing.

“What are you doing?” Ichigo asks, chuckling lightly at his half-brother’s defensiveness when the colorless male jerks the bowl of strawberries safely out of reach.

“I’m eatin’. Do yah need me teh explain everythin’ to yah?”

Ichigo laughs again and decides not to harp on subject of Shiro’s firm attachment to Yuzu’s gift or else he might shatter the illusion of cuteness.

"No, no, I mean, is it good?”

“‘course it is. Yuzu made it fer me.” It’s disguised by a mumble, but Ichigo can hear the vulnerable emotion coating the callous male’s speech, a rare flush warming his fair cheeks.

“And yah can’t haf any.” Shiro growls.

“Awww,” Ichigo drawls melodramatically, inclining further so that his head rests against his half-brother’s exposed shoulder, “not even a bite?”

The albino looks down at the naive boy invading his space, Ichigo’s brown eyes focused on a discolored tongue as it darts out to lick the stray grains of sugar from pallid fingers stained red from strawberry juice.

“ _Oh_ ,” the snarky teen says with a knowing smirk, “is dah big _stawberry_ feelin’ left out? Does he wanna join his little friends in my mouth?”

Shiro presses another strawberry against his pursed lips, this time for the sole purpose of tormenting the other boy with the sensual swirl of his tongue.

Dammit. Shiro knows that nickname pisses him off, but Ichigo can’t gripe too much, it was his fault for leading the conversation towards the inside joke.

“Maybe,” Ichigo admits shyly, sampling the fruit held firmly in place by Shiro’s guard of teeth.

Shiro doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe as Ichigo’s closed eyelashes fill his vision, the conventional boy having no problem claiming the stolen fruit as his own. Ichigo pulls back, embarrassed by his own impulsiveness. He chews the berry slowly, jaw aching with the effort, ignoring the tightness in his throat when he swallows down the starburst of ruby red flesh.

“It’s good.”

Usually, the prude won’t shut up about using discretion around his family, but it seems today is special exception to the rules and Shiro is going to take full advantage of it.

Plucking another fruity triangle between his thumb and forefinger, Shiro slides closer to the shameless redhead.

“I s'pose I could part wit’ one more.”

The colorless male purrs, golden eyes tracking the of timid progression of lips as they work over the dessert, coercing fingers to release their hold on his prize. A greedy tongue flicks over black nailed fingertips, tasting the unique pattern of rings he finds there.

When pale fingers withdraw, wet and dripping from his mouth, and Ichigo moans at the loss, pleading for their return with a playful bite.

“So, yah gunna tell me why yah were so late gettin’ home? Was waitin’ awhile.”

Shiro’s hands drift down his partner’s chin, following the chords of his neck, a messy trail of saliva marking their path.

“Took… care … of it,” Ichigo pants in between touches, a lusty haze darkening the depths of his ochre eyes.

“Mmm.” Shiro hums, showing that he understood. “Yah shoulda called me. Those friends of yers don’t know when teh quit. If it were me, I wouldda sent them away screamin'.”

“I'know. That’s why I told you to go back first.” Ichigo slurs, his voice rusty and strained. His head is throbbing almost as loudly as his heart, feint and weak, heavy and dense, unable to concentrate on anything, but the pleasure pooling low in his stomach.

Shiro delights in muddling the proper boy’s thoughts with lewd fantasies, but tension is pulling at the redhead’s brows, a needless spat of teenage angst making him say, “It’s not something you need to worry about.”

A fine white eyebrow raises, the corner of his sly mouth strung up along with it.

“ _Don’t I_?” The ablino muses, unconvinced, “Someone’s gotta look out fer yah. Like this 'ere.”

Black-nailed fingertips point to the tan skin of the other’s chest, the fabric of his t-shirt made skin-tight and see-through by his previous scrape with the garden hose. Hands ghost over sensitive twin flesh, nipples easily propositioned under a flicking thumb and Ichigo tries not to moan out loud from his counterpart’s ruthless teasing.

“Yah should go change. Wouldn’t want yah to catch a cold now would we? I could even go wit’ yah, if yah want. I’m wet too ‘member? It won’t look _that_ suspicious.”

The albinos cool breath mingles with his own dry heat as the two connect, crowning their foreheads, ineluctably drawn together.

“D-don’t be stupid.”

Ichigo looks down, away, anywhere that isn’t Shiro, but it doesn’t matter; brown meets gold when his chin is lifted, leveling their gaze. Licking his own lips clean of sweetness, the albino seals the nonexistent gap with a lingering kiss, but the moment he tries to dive his tongue in, make it deeper, his partner pulls away.

“Haven’t eaten yet." Ichigo argues and Shiro chuckles darkly at that shit excuse.

"If yer hungry, yah can count on me teh fill you up.” The exotic boy purrs, palm trailing dangerously close to the waistband of the redhead’s shorts, his spine tingling with anticipation because he knows exactly how hot Ichigo feels on the inside, wants those muscles clenching around him again until their both spilling out, and he will, they will, just as soon as he gets the orangette to a bed.

Before he can persuade his counterpart to do anything more risqué though, Yuzu reappears with a fresh plate of raw meat in her hands.

“I GOT THEM!” she hollers a little too loudly as the two boy’s disentangle, a blossom of redness enveloping their sister’s innocent face. The short-haired girl hurries across the yard to her Dad, small hands shaking as she sets the plate down with a clatter on the metal wing of the charcoal grill.

“I-I’ll keep an –an eye on them w-with you.” Yuzu says in a rush. Her posture is just a little too stiff and proper, hands clasped tight as she concentrates on assisting her inept father and not on the private, grown-up matters she just interrupted. A sudden thought occurs to her, completely wiping her memory of the romantic scene.

“Oh! Ichi-nii, I almost forgot! Why don’t you split the watermelon?”

“Sure, where is it?” Ichigo asks, a little too enthusiastically. He stands up to put some distance between himself and Shiro (whom looks incredibly pleased with himself despite being shafted), but it’s a horrible idea. Ichigo adjusts his shorts, stretching the fabric’s length to help compensate the hardness of his, inwardly chastising himself for getting swept up in the moment when his family was still so close by.

Yuzu offers her brother a condoling frown, “Um … I think I gave it to Karin-chan.”

“Gave it to Shiro,” Karin mutters around her straw, finishing the last of her drink with a harsh suck.

When all eyes land on the albino he passes the blame along.

“Gave it tah Tensa.”

“Has anyone seen Tensa,” Ichigo muses aloud, realizing he hasn’t seen the boy’s panda-like features all day.

As if on cue, Tensa appears from around the corner of the house, the missing watermelon carried on the edge of his hip. There’s purpose in his step, one that speaks of a man struck with great revelation. The green-eyed youth sets down a piece of cardboard in the center of the yard to function as his catch, a stump of wood laid down soon after to serve as his chopping block.

“Everyone,” He snow white male with ebony locks announces, “I have been contemplating the traditional value of using a baseball bat for this occasion, however; I would like to use this if I may!”

The dark haired youth reveals a short sword from behind his back, raises it’s melded hilt up for all to see, his stoic gaze magnified by the high regard he holds for the weapon, the twilight sky glistening off the black lustrous surface.

“Where the hell did you get that blade?!” Ichigo demands, gawking as Tensa takes out strip of cloth and ties it around his eyes.

“Whoa, nice sword,” Shiro whistles, “can’t wait to swing it around while blindfolded.”

“Yeah,” Karin concurs, crawling up the arch of Shiro’s back, her approach silent, but welcomed as she leans her arms on the slope of his shoulder. “Ya, think Dad would let me try it,” she whispers inquisitively into snowy peaks of hair flaring out over frosted ears.

“Not a chance young lady!” Isshin barks, his middle-aged hearing particularly attuned when it concerns the well-being of his family. The grown man ushers Yuzu to stand behind him, shielding her from potential danger.

“But Daaaaaad! Can’t you let me hold it just for a second!”

“The answer is: No! A sword has no place in the hands of young girl! Ichigo, watch her!”

“Don’t worry, she’s safe with me!” Ichigo nods, using his own body to act as a barrier.

“Move it Ichigo, yer blocking the view,” Shiro snarls. Normally, he wouldn’t complain about his partner’s backside being shoved in his face, but this was one game of _Suikawari_ he refuses to forfeit his rights to.

“Then move if you don’t like it! I don’t care if your dumbass gets hurt,” The overprotective big brother snaps, stubbornly rooting himself in place.

“Che! Calm down, I’m not gunna let anythin’ happen teh her.”

The albino’s hand rises to ruffle Karin’s wet locks, the brush of his fingers sculpting her hair into a frizzy weave, but the tomboy doesn’t mind so much, not when her half-brothers terms of endearment made her feel so sappy she might as well be oozing out of the bark of a tree. Karin wraps her arms around firmly around the albino’s neck, nearly suffocating him with a backwards hug.

“Don’t worry about me! I’ll be fine!”

Ichigo believes every word and that’s why he moves just slightly to the right.

“The s-sword! It’s – it’s glowing!” Yuzu cries, bewilderment displayed on her heart-shaped face as Tensa raises the blade above his voluminous head of curls to debut his special technique.

“Whadya think it means,” Karin asks, her nonchalant voice magnified by her close proximity. 

“Dunno, but yah should probably put these on,” Shiro remarks casually, holding up a pair of overly-designed, ridiculously huge sunglasses. She slips the gaudy eyewear onto her face without resistance.

“Where did you get these?”

“Not tellin’.”

“How can you two be so calm at a time like this?!” Yuzu scolds, tears streaking down her eyes as she molds her petite frame around her fathers bulk.

“Get … su … gaaaaa – ” Tensa calls, his voice projecting loudly over the rustling treetops, a cluster of ominous clouds gathering above him to cast a series of shadows below.

“Here it comes,” the suntanned boy warns, bracing himself for the inevitable splatter of watermelon juice.

“– TENSHOU!”

Tensa strikes a fatal blow, the earth quaking with the force of his swing. Blue lightning streaks up, piercing the heavens as the the melon is split into two perfectly identical pieces.

Tensa removes the band covering his eyes to rate the precision of his aim, but the albino has already beat him to it.

“Great job, Tensa,” Shiro compliments, impressed by the smooth, level surface of the watermelon halves, “Now we gotta take turns slicin’ it intah smaller pieces.”

“That was awesome,” Karin cheers, high-fiving the green-eyed swordsman when his hand becomes free. There’s a slight variation to Tensa frugal expression, an almost undetectable spell of emotion, but the tomboy sees it, knows her words resulted in vindication and respect.

“Aww man,” Ichigo laments, holding out the hem of his t-shirt to look down at the slashes of red drawn on cotton fabric that will probably never wash out. “I really liked this shirt.”

“Don’t worry, I can bleach it for you,” Yuzu chirps, always eager to lend a helping hand.


End file.
